Cross the Line

CHAPTER 14

Dev

Fantastic news: only some people think I have an STD now.

Willow has been hard at work over the past week, posting daily to every social media platform I possess – and ones I didn’t know existed before she came into the picture – to bring me back into the public eye. And if the curated comments she’s texted me every day we’ve been apart are anything to go off, it’s going pretty well.

Today, we’ve finally been reunited. We’re sitting in the Argonaut motorhome set up at the Montreal circuit and chatting over breakfast. I have to leave for a track walk, a meet and greet and a strategy meeting soon, but I’m savouring this time. It’s a typical packed Thursday, made even busier by the dinner I’m set to attend tonight for one of our sponsors. Sadly, I haven’t figured a way out of it just yet.

‘What are the people saying today?’ I ask Willow as I pick at the scrambled eggs Mark set in front of me.

She keeps her head down as she scrolls through her phone, a hint of a pleased smirk tugging up the corners of her glossy lips. ‘That your smile is the eighth wonder of the world.’

‘Solid.’

I shouldn’t have missed her as much as I did, but the week apart felt more like a month. And, admittedly, like a little part of me was missing the whole time. She’s only been back in my life for a matter of weeks, and yet she’s managed to brush the edges of my every thought. By the time we go our separate ways at the end of the summer, I’m worried she’ll have taken over completely.

It’s part of the reason I left San Diego early. Sure, I needed time on the sim and to talk with the crew at the factory in Dallas, but it wasn’t as pressing as I led Willow to believe. I could have stayed in our hometown for at least a few more days, but I had to get out of there, especially after my mother literally laughed in my face when I told her nothing would ever happen between Willow and me. Then I compounded my fuckups when I spotted the stuffed animal I won for Willow when we were kids.

The idea that she’d kept the toy – Ellie – beside her bed for so long, a visual confirmation of her having been into me for years, made something snap in my mind. And when she pressed herself against me to get the plush elephant back . . . Fuck, it’s a miracle all I did was toss her on the bed and blurt something about how her obsession wasn’t one-sided, because all I wanted was to haul her in and kiss her until she was begging for more.

I tried to play it off and get back to the matter at hand – the work she was doing for me – but I’d already breached our agreement. Willow, thankfully, let it slide. Probably because she didn’t want to get into it. What could she have said after that anyway? I knew the rules, and I flat-out ignored them. Scolding me for breaking them wouldn’t have changed anything.

We’re back to the easy laughs today, like everything last week has been forgotten. It helps that we have a buffer again. Chava sits across from us, scrolling through my social pages as well and reading out his favourite comments as he stumbles upon them.

Even Mark is taking part. He takes Chava’s phone and snickers before he reads aloud, ‘“Chlamydia or not, I’d still ride him like those waves.”’ His eyes slide to me. ‘Seems like your prospects are looking up, man. We might finally get you laid again.’

I do my best not to glance in Willow’s direction as I force out a laugh. ‘My chances might be better once people stop mentioning me and STDs in the same sentence.’

‘We’ll get you there,’ Willow promises, and I finally dare to look over at her. She’s perfectly composed, like Mark’s comment hasn’t ruffled her in the same way it’s ruffled me. ‘To quote one of the comments I read earlier, you’ll be drowning in pussy again soon.’

Orange juice sprays from Chava’s mouth, coating the table in front of him. Wincing, I use my napkin to wipe a few stray droplets off my arm.

‘Jesus Christ, Willow.’ His blasphemy is a cross between a cough and a laugh. ‘I didn’t realize you even knew that word.’

She shrugs, grinning back at him. The twinkle in her dark eyes has my uniform shorts feeling tighter. ‘I know a lot of words.’

I bet she does. And, fuck, if fantasies of her legs wrapped around my waist and her lips at my ear while she whispers them don’t assault me right there in front of everyone.

I stand abruptly, sidestepping from my chair to hide my hopefully-not-obvious semi. ‘Lost track of time,’ I announce when confused expressions greet me. ‘Gotta pay Patsy a visit. See if she finally put me in the drivers’ press conference. Maybe today’s the day she’ll give me the okay to tell reporters that Nathaniel’s a cun—’ I cut short, remembering where I am and who could be listening. ‘A sweet, darling, beautiful boy whom I respect very much.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Chava utters as Mark snorts.

Willow’s frowning as she looks from me to Mark to Chava and back again. It’s probably better that she doesn’t fully understand the hatred I have for my teammate anyway. I don’t need that inadvertently bleeding into the things she posts.

Besides, for her, I like to stick to being positive Dev. Fixer Dev. Always looking on the bright side Dev. She doesn’t need to see the undercurrent of darkness and discontent that runs through me. I don’t want to slip the rose-tinted glasses from her pretty eyes yet.

But if Argonaut continues to screw me over, she and the rest of the world may see more than they bargained for soon enough.

——

Whoever said the world of Formula 1 is nonstop thrills and entertainment was a bald-faced liar.

‘If I fall asleep, make sure I don’t drop my champagne,’ I mumble to Mark, barely resisting the urge to slump against the small table we’re posted up at. Some sponsor events can be a good time, but this one is a snoozefest. Who would have thought Swiss watchmakers were so boring?

Mark is my plus-one tonight. If I can’t get both of them in, he and Chava take turns accompanying me. Though I might try to work Willow into that rotation soon. Is it a desperate move to get more time with her? Damn straight. Do I care? Not in the slightest.

Mark shoots me an amused glance. ‘As long as you flash that thing on your wrist as you do, I don’t think anyone will mind the mess.’

He’s probably right. I shake out my wrist so the cuff of my shirt rides up to show off the glinting timepiece. I gotta admit, the perks of this life are great sometimes. I’ll probably never have to pay for a watch again.

Unfortunately, one of the shittier parts of it is making their way straight toward me.

‘Incoming,’ Mark says from the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

My eyes lock on Buck and Nathaniel Decker, and I force a grin. It’s sharper than it should be. ‘I would never.’

Mark heaves a sigh and straightens, pushing his shoulders back. He’s taller than most of the men in this room, so it’s really not necessary, but I’m grateful for my makeshift bodyguard. Not that I need protecting. No, more like I need someone to hold me back if Buck hits me with one of his famous microaggressions.

‘Buck,’ I greet with fake warmth when he and his son approach. ‘So good to see you.’

Argonaut’s owner, clad in cowboy boots and a Stetson, flashes me a smile that doesn’t come close to touching his cold eyes. He hates my guts, but he didn’t immediately cut me from the team after my scandal, which means his need for me outweighs his hatred. Unfortunately, I don’t know how much longer it’ll last, and my contract stipulates he can buy me out whenever he wants, so I’ll continue to try my best to stay in his relatively good graces.

‘Dev,’ he returns, tipping his head so his hat briefly hides his eyes. ‘Glad you didn’t skip this one.’

I skipped one sponsor party last year when I was so sick with the flu that I couldn’t get out of bed, and this guy is still holding it over my head. Every time I see him – which isn’t often, thank god, since he’s too busy running his evil empire to make it to many races – he gives me another reason to hate him back.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ I turn my attention to Nathaniel, who looks bored out of his mind. I can’t blame him. ‘How you doing, Nate?’

Only certain people are allowed to call him by his nickname, and I am not one of them . . . which is why I make a point to use it as often as I can.

He juts his strong chin out. ‘I’m good.’ His Texas drawl is only slightly lighter than his father’s. ‘Excited about the weekend.’

I bet he is. The team will do anything to keep him happy, so I can only imagine what hell they’re going to rain down on me to make that happen. ‘Should be a good race if the weather holds out.’

Nathaniel’s eyes light up like he has more to say, but his father cuts him off.

‘I’ll see you in the paddock in the morning,’ Buck says. It’s a dismissal, a promise and a threat all wrapped into one. ‘Make sure you socialize tonight. I want everyone to see that you actually showed up. Honestly, I’m surprised you even made it here on time. Your kind of people aren’t usually known for their punctuality.’

I nod, biting back something along the lines of fuck all the way off. ‘Yes, sir.’

He spares a glance at Mark but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge my trainer, then clasps his hands behind his back and strolls off with Nathaniel reluctantly trailing behind him. For once, I feel bad for my teammate. With a father like Buck, no wonder he turned out the way he did.

Once they’ve wandered into the crowd, I turn back to Mark and let my smile drop. ‘If that man keeps me until my contract is up, I’ll be shocked.’

‘As if he’d waste the money to buy you out,’ Mark scoffs, but doubt flickers across his face. ‘The team would be at the bottom of the standings without you scoring points. He needs you.’

Only until he can find someone he thinks is better, though. But outside of the top three teams, there are very few drivers better than me. No, fuck that. In the remaining fourteen, there aren’t any better than me. If only I had a better car and the support of a team to help me prove it.

‘We’ll see for how long,’ I mumble, just as my phone buzzes in my pocket.

When I pull it out, I’m greeted by a notification. Dev Anderson has uploaded a new photo. I follow my main accounts from the fake ones I set up after the Jani disaster, mainly so I could keep track of what people were saying about me after I disappeared from the public eye. Spoiler: it wasn’t anything good. I stopped checking them after two horrible days.

Looks like Willow is on the job, though it’s a little late to be posting. She’s probably in her hotel room a few doors down from mine, already in her pyjamas and lying in bed. That was her plan, at least, when I talked to her earlier. I like the image more than I should.

‘Why are you smiling like a dumbass?’

I blink myself out of the fantasy, eyes swinging to Mark. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re a fuckin’ goof on a good day, but this’ – he waves a hand in front of my face – ‘is different.’

I lock my phone and slip it back into my pocket without checking to see what Willow posted. I share just about everything with the man standing next to me, but I want to keep this to myself for a little longer. I don’t need more of his judgement. ‘It’s nothing important.’

But Mark knows me too well. ‘Is it Willow?’

I pull in a deep breath and confess. ‘She posted something. I was checking the notification.’

Knowing him, he doesn’t buy it. He just witnessed my far too jubilant reaction to a notification that shouldn’t have gotten more than a cursory glance.

‘Right,’ he says slowly. ‘I saw how you were looking at her earlier.’

I freeze under his hard stare and clench my jaw tight to keep from incriminating myself further.

‘You know nothing can happen,’ he warns, dropping his voice as he goes into lecture mode. Might as well stand back and let him get it all out. ‘Stop entertaining the idea that it might.’ He lifts a hand to motion to the party around us. ‘Pick any woman here. Get this out of your system. You’re only fawning over her because you’re thinking with your deprived dick. I promise you, the second you get off, you’ll forget about her.’

He can believe that all he wants, but not a single woman has caught my eye tonight. If that’s not proof that he’s wrong, then I don’t know what is.

I force a lopsided grin to my face, determined to navigate the conversation away from the topic of Willow. ‘You think my reputation’s recovered enough to make that happen?’ I ask, trying to infuse the words with humour, even though all I feel is cold sweat dripping down my spine.

‘The only reason it hasn’t yet is because you’ve been too in your head.’ Apparently, Mark is done playing nice. ‘And now you’re using it as an excuse because you want someone you can’t have.’

The truth is a punch to the gut. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I snap.

‘Yeah, I do.’ He gives me a once-over, not bothering to hide his discontent. ‘If the almost guaranteed prospect of ruining our friendship with Oakley isn’t enough to convince you to stay away from Willow, then think about what it will do to her. Think about what being linked to you like that will do to her career. If you get involved and the public finds out, no one will hire her after you’re done with her. They’ll think she goes around fucking athletes to get ahead. You really want that for her?’

Ice spreads through my veins, freezing me to the spot and making it impossible to respond. Of course I don’t want that. She deserves nothing short of the best. That’s part of the reason I offered her a job in the first place – to make sure she was set up for future success. The last thing I want is to destroy it all.

‘Don’t do it, Dev,’ Mark murmurs. ‘Don’t ruin this for all of us.’

——

I go to bed alone.

If tonight is any indication, my reputation with women is improving. Unlike the past few months, a handful were brave enough to approach me, and I didn’t hesitate to let the charm fly. But when I finally snuck away for another drink and to check on the notification I’d received, my desire to sleep with anyone else hit the negatives.

Willow had posted a photo from the meet and greet. In it, I had my head tilted back in laughter as a group of Desi girls held up a Photoshopped banner of me as the shirt-billowing hero of a Bollywood movie, with the rest of the drivers as my background dancers. I got a massive kick out of it and posed for several pictures with the girls. I didn’t realize Willow was capturing the moment too.

The text under the post read If racing doesn’t work out . . . which is word for word the joke I cracked then. But with the roar of the crowd and the distance between us, judging by this photo, there’s no way Willow could have heard.

Had Jani been responsible for this post, she would have written something cheesy, something I would never dream of saying. But Willow understands my humour and what fits my brand.

She knows me.

I left the party soon after, done flirting with women I had no interest in. Mark shot me a disappointed look when I said my goodbyes, but I didn’t care. Why waste my energy on something I don’t really want?

But even if I shut down that idea, his warning lingers in my head.

I don’t want to ruin Willow’s career before it gets off the ground. The world is cruel to women in a way I’ll never fully understand, but if she got involved with me, it would follow her for the rest of her life. I can’t jeopardize that, no matter how much I want her.

Oakley’s opinion alone isn’t enough to stop me, but the risk to Willow’s career combined with the other consequences – like probably dealing the death blow to our remaining friend group – is.

Maybe. Fuck, is it?

It’s not like I plan to break Willow’s heart if we got involved, but I’m not a fortune teller. I can’t read the stars or predict the future. But if I had to choose between hurting her and never racing again, I’d walk away from F1 in a heartbeat.

Cringing, I press a pillow over my face in hopes that it will suffocate the idea out of me, but I’m still breathing, and all I can see is Willow’s coy smile from this morning. My not-so-innocent girl.

I’ve known I was in trouble since Oakley’s birthday last year – but now? I’m deeper in it than I ever thought I’d be.

——

The result of my restless night is a terrible practice session. It carries over into Saturday too, and I end up coming in thirteenth in qualifying. That alone isn’t unheard of, but Nathaniel slotted himself into twelfth by two thousandths of a second, and that fucking stings. Buck is happy, and the entire garage has released a sigh of relief. But me? I’m trying not to be a sore loser before the race even starts.

In my driver room, Mark is pushing me through reaction-time drills while Chava and Willow sit on the small couch, each working on keeping my life running smoothly.

‘Reid has space on his jet if you want to fly private tomorrow,’ Chava says as soon as I smack the last illuminated light on the panel. ‘He says we’re all welcome to join, and he’s going home this week, so he’ll be flying to Dallas anyway.’

Reid Coleman is the third American driver on the grid. If Scuderia D’Ambrosi hadn’t snatched him up from F2 first, I’m sure Argonaut would have wanted him. He’s the quintessential all-American boy – golden-blond hair, blue eyes and ivory skin, though lately he’s been sporting the kind of tan that hints to a winter spent somewhere warm. He’s nothing like my brown ass. Some days I’m pretty sure Argonaut only brought me on because they wanted diversity points, but that’s a conspiracy I’ll never speak aloud.

Reid and I shared an apartment in Monaco shortly after we were signed to our teams. We were nothing more than boys barely out of our teens who found themselves living the dream of driving at the most elite level of motorsport. I can without a doubt credit him for keeping me sane that first year. Without him, I might have let my nerves get the best of me.

We’ve drifted a little since. It’s the nature of being on different teams, and just a part of growing up, I suppose, but we still look out for each other.

Adjusting my race suit where it hangs around my waist, I nod. ‘I’m in. I’d rather not fly with the team again.’ Especially if they find a way to fuck me over today. As always, I’m trying to look on the bright side, but Argonaut makes it harder with every day that passes.

Willow clears her throat. ‘When you say we’re all welcome,’ she begins, brows raised, ‘does that include me?’

Chava loops an arm around her neck and pulls her into his side. He lifts his free hand to ruffle her hair like he used to when we were kids, but before he makes contact, he pulls back. He’s definitely made the right choice – I don’t think she’d appreciate it if he frizzed her curls.

An unexpected jolt of jealousy lances through my chest at the sight of them pressed against each other. The vague chokehold he has her in is nothing but older-brother shenanigans, and her hand is high on his chest only to keep him from squeezing her tighter. But regardless, it has my adrenaline spiking at a time when I should be keeping calm.

‘Duh, it includes you,’ Chava says, grinning down at her, oblivious to my rising temperature. ‘You’re one of us now.’

Every instinct inside me is screaming to rip him away from her. To tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself. But before they can take over, Mark tosses me a warning look, his blue eyes piercing. So instead, I draw in a deep breath to steady myself and lower my heart rate. Shit. I can’t risk the stress before getting into the car. Driving angry won’t get me anywhere except in the barriers.

I do my best to ignore Chava and Willow’s conversation as I motion for Mark to grab the torture device we use for neck training, but her giggles as Chava regales her with the perks of flying private float through the air and hit me one after another, like physical blows.

Mark nearly snaps my neck when he pulls the bands tight because I’m not properly braced. Thankfully, I manage to slip out of the head straps before he can truly do any damage. He fusses over me, hands brushing my head and shoulders to check for injury, but I duck away and turn to the couch.

‘You guys mind heading down to the garage?’ I ask, hoping they can’t hear the tension in my voice. ‘I need Mark to work on my lower back, and I don’t need you two seeing me in just my fireproofs. A boy needs his privacy.’

With nods and noises of affirmation, they collect their things and move toward the door, though not before Chava tosses me a questioning look.

When they’re gone, Mark gives me a disapproving frown. ‘You’re distracted.’

I pick up the training device again and put it back on. ‘I’m good. I promise. There was just too much going on.’ I motion to the cord. ‘You gonna torture me or not? I know you love to watch me suffer, baby.’

He ignores my teasing, and the rejection burns. ‘You’re letting her get to you.’

‘Shut the fuck up.’ It snaps off my tongue before I can stop it, but I’m sick of his little reprimands. I take a deep breath and close my eyes to centre myself before reopening them. Mark is on my side. He’s only looking out for me. ‘I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that.’

With a nod, he accepts my apology. ‘It’s fine. I get it.’ He pauses, meeting my eyes. ‘But you gotta let her go.’

I don’t know which way to take his words. Let her go as in fire her? Or abandon the feelings I’ve developed? Either way, I don’t know if I can do it.

‘Let’s get back to this.’ I offer the cord to him again. ‘I’ve got a teammate who needs his ass kicked.’

——

I’m back to feeling like myself once I’m down in my side of the garage.

The roar of engines and scent of motor oil have a way of bringing my blood pressure back to normal levels. The thread of adrenaline coursing through me now is thanks to the impending race and nothing else. I bounce on the balls of my feet as I have a last-minute strategy chat with Branny and Sturgill, our team principal. Sturgill isn’t a bad guy, but he’s Buck’s lackey. And while the priority should be scoring points for the team, no matter which driver gets them, Sturgill has never made it a secret that his priority is keeping Buck happy.

That said, he’s gone to bat for me before, and I’ve got to respect him for it. It’s just a shame he can’t do it more often.

Once we’ve wrapped up, I head over to where Chava’s helping Willow adjust her headset.

Her expression is so bright that I almost have to look away. She’s like pure sunshine, illuminating anything and everything around her, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

‘I’ve never looked better,’ she proclaims to Chava, framing her face with her hands and showing off the bright red headset. She’s painted her nails to match, her ring fingers accented with glitter.

She’s the only person in here who can pull off Argonaut’s uniform. Her tight navy skirt hugs her hips, and she’s got her striped polo casually tucked in at the front. She’s tied her curls back with a star-printed ribbon, somehow sporty and gut-wrenchingly sexy at the same time.

One glance at her and I already know I’m in big fucking trouble. But I’m not interested in keeping myself out of it.

How can I let her go, like Mark insists, when she looks like an angel and has such a brilliant mind?

She spots me as I approach, her dimples deepening. ‘Good luck today.’

‘Don’t need it,’ I tease, mirroring her grin. ‘I’ve got you.’

That drags a groan out of her, and she drops her head back. ‘I told you not to put that on me!’

‘Gonna get on the podium today, just because you’re here.’

‘You’re the worst.’ She sighs, then motions for me to move out of her way. ‘I’m going to find Konrad. He got some shots yesterday I want for your feed.’

Thinking about her post from the other night, I step to the side, letting her pass. Everything she’s done so far has been perfect, giving fans the glimpses into my life they’re begging for, though never enough to make me feel uncomfortable. She’s been careful to keep the balance between personal and professional. Yesterday she even suggested a series of posts that focus on my relationships with the team members I work closely with – a gratitude tour of sorts, to show my appreciation for what each one of them does for me. In comparison, Jani shared more shots of me shirtless in the gym than anything else. It was as if her go-to strategy was to make me look like a self-absorbed prick.

After Willow strolls off, I turn to Chava, rolling my eyes at his knowing expression. Between his leering grins and Mark’s disapproving comments, it’s like having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. I just don’t know who’s who.

‘Don’t say anything,’ I warn him.

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘But you were thinking it.’

A wicked grin splits his face. ‘Guilty as charged.’

I sigh and reach around him to grab my helmet from the shelf. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

Chava clasps his hands behind his back and rocks back on his heels, ever the menace. ‘Good luck today,’ he mocks in a shitty imitation of Willow’s voice.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

‘Take a number, cabrón.’

——

Once I’m in the car, the bullshit floods away.

The engine rumbles behind me. My helmet narrows my vision so the asphalt and the cars in front of me are all I see – including Nathaniel ahead on the right. The sight of him fills me with determination. Goal number one today: get around him as soon as possible. Though that’ll only be possible if the Omega Siluro in the grid spot ahead of mine gets out of my way.

Which, of course, doesn’t happen.

He’s slow off the line, leaving me to cut right, but Nathaniel makes a solid getaway, forcing me to slot in behind him. I stay close through lap one and keep my cool despite his dirty air slowing me at every turn, but the slipstream in the straights is worth it. By the time DRS kicks in, I have no doubt that I can pass him.

I give it another few laps, getting a little more heat in my tyres until the car feels comfortable under me. I’m in my sweet spot, ready to push, knowing I can climb higher.

There’s only one problem – my teammate won’t get out of the fucking way.

He’s defending like his life depends on it, which will be misery on his tyres, especially this early on. His race engineer is probably telling him to take it easy, to preserve the two-stop strategy for new tyres, but this guy is itching to ruin that.

‘I need to pass him,’ I tell Branny over the radio, ignoring his calls to ease off Nathaniel’s back wing. ‘My pace is at least a half second faster.’

There’s a beat of crackling silence before Branny announces, ‘Negative, you do not have permission to race.’

I’m blindsided by the call. As it stands, we’re both outside the points, and in order to change that, either I have to pass my teammate or a handful of people in front of us need to run into considerable trouble. So why won’t they let me do what’s best for our standing in the Constructors’ Championship?

Actually, that’s a stupid question. I already know why.

‘Then make it team orders,’ I demand. ‘Tell him to let me pass.’

‘Negative,’ Branny says immediately. Not even a second of thought goes into the answer. ‘Maintain and defend.’

That’s absolute bullshit. Even the commentators have got to see that my pace is better than Nathaniel’s. If he let me through, I’d easily be seconds ahead of him. And there’s a chance I could catch up to the McMorris in tenth.

But no, I’m stuck defending for my sack of shit teammate who only knows how to check his mirrors when I’m behind him.

I fume for sixty more laps, mentally cursing Nathaniel and Buck and every person who enables them, until I cross the finish line.

If I hadn’t made up my mind before, I have now. I’ve got to get out of here.